I slowly opened the folder.
There were copies of private medical records.
My blood type.
My medical history.
Information I had shared only with healthcare providers.
I remembered Derek once insisting that we attend the same clinic for routine health examinations.
He had said it would be convenient to manage appointments together.
Now I wondered whether that visit had been part of his plan.
My father continued.
“Sharing a blood type doesn’t establish that someone is a suitable kidney donor. There would normally be extensive medical testing and an independent consent process. Whatever those people were planning was neither legitimate nor safe.”
I looked away.
I had always thought of my body as something ordinary.
Something that belonged to me without question.
To discover that someone I trusted had been discussing it as though he could simply give part of it away was deeply unsettling.
My mother reached across the seat and took my hand.
